


in the asking

by freakedelic



Series: Tumblr Porn Prompts [2]
Category: DCU (Comics), Teen Titans (Animated Series)
Genre: Begging, Degrading Language, Gangbang, Gore, Humiliation, Knives Where They Don't Belong, M/M, Mindbreak, Sadism, Sloppy Seconds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 15:44:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17921711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freakedelic/pseuds/freakedelic
Summary: anonymous asked: For prompts if you’re up for it maybe Slade/dick or even gangbang tbh— but I love the thought of robin being put in one of those full body glory holes, with just his pretty plush ass hanging out ready to be used (he can either know who is using him or not). I’m also really really into gore like you so if you end up filling this that’d be an extra kudos!!!!!“I realize it’s hard to use that mouth of yours for anything except gagging on cock,” Slade mocks, “but why don’t you try?”





	in the asking

The slick sound of something slipping into him is so familiar that Robin barely notices. He can feel loose muscles expanding, someone’s cock deep in his body. It’s slick against his walls and he can’t help muscles moving around it, almost trying to get it out. Every vein of it is still familiar in his abused hole. Fingernails dig into his hips as the stranger starts to move, the latest person to make use of Robin’s spread legs, on top of so many people before them. They press so deep it hurts, leaving Robin gaping for second that hang in time before he jerks forward against the table pathetically. Friction increases, hot and unwanted.

Something dribbles out of his mouth, saliva staining his chin and the table. Robin blinks dully up at the too-bright room. His body is pressed forward and back, limp and pliable and easy. A whine slips through his lips, unnoticed by anyone else in the room. The slap of skin on skin drowns him out.

“How is he?”

Robin’s eyes widen as much as they can at the familiar voice, neck straining to catch a glimpse of his master. All he can see are the dress pants that complete Slade’s suit, right in front of him, black as sin.

“Tight.” The voice is from behind him, low and unfamiliar as everyone else has been the whole night. Fingers punctuate it by yanking on Robin’s hair, slamming into him with enough force that Robin lets out a strangled yell, neck arching back so unnatural it hurts.

Robin can feel the man’s seed blooming in his gut, hot and too much of it dribbling down the backs of his thighs as he’s slipped out of. There’s so much, leaking out of him even as he clenches around it. He whimpers, suddenly empty, head slamming back to the table.

A glob of saliva lands on his back, dripping down his shoulderblade. Robin sobs slightly, trying to pull himself up by the chains that keep him on the table. His face burns.

“Enjoying yourself, slut?” Slade’s leaning over slightly, making it clear that he’s addressing Robin. A hand drags at his hair for the second time, Robin blinking up into a perfectly nonchalant face. The only thing to come out of his mouth is a low whine.

“That’s what I thought.” Slade laughs at his own joke. His eye flicks over Robin’s back, spattered with cum and spit and the last dregs of wine. It’s filth on his skin, like every part of him, inside and out. All he can feel is hotness on every inch of him, curling under skin, ruining every muscle and bone it touches. There is nothing in the world except Slade’s bright blue eye and Robin’s aching muscles, clenching around nothing at all.

Nobody comes around the back of him this time. Robin twitches in expectation of something filling him up, only feeling cool air against his shaking thighs. Cum dribbles to the ground. His toes curl into it, some his own mess.

The pale fingers in front of him that he vaguely recognizes as his own strain against the chains, grasping at Slade’s suit jacket. Seconds later, rough fingers circle his wrist with bruising force. “I realize it’s hard to use that mouth of yours for anything except gagging on cock,” Slade mocks, “but why don’t you  _try_?”

Robin blinks up at him, lips stumbling out an apology, pain down to his bones. Cold air breezes past Robin’s cock, still pressed against the table, reaching places inside him that hang open. Waiting for someone to take advantage of his body, still sticky with excess.

 _Needing_ it.

“Please,” he whines, tears dripping down his face, even though he doesn’t remember when he started crying. He can’t stop himself from looking up at Slade with wide eyes, choking on his own humiliation.

A cock of an eyebrow. “You want to get  _fucked_?”

Robin sobs. Tears drip down his chin and land on his arms. He wants to shake his head, but instead is barely able to bring it up and down.

“At least you know what you’re good for.”

His face is slammed back into the table by his own limp body. It doesn’t hurt nearly as much as every other part of him, fingers and shoulders tingling with numbness. Robin feels his lashes pressed against the table. His ears strain for Slade’s footsteps around the table, hands curling into fists, the only shifting of his body he can manage in his restraints. 

The next noise sets every nerve on end. Robin’s eyes shoot open at the  _schtick_ of metal sliding out of its restraints, a sound that has heralded agony every time: Slade’s pocket knife. Robin jerks forward.

“No - no, no, please - “

“Remember you asked for this,” Slade purrs.

The knife goes in with the same slick noise it made coming out of its case. It’s sharp and it burns so bright Robin sees light behind his eyes as he shrieks, chains drawing blood on his wrists. Slade twists, shredding muscles and sinew, cutting agony into parts of Robin he didn’t know he had. It thrusts deep, Slade’s fingers pressing at his entrance, the blood boiling in Robin’s gut with the pain of it.

He’s still screaming when it pulls out, blood gushing down his thighs and covering his feet, legs kicking in the fuzzed carpet. The knife cuts his puckered hole, sliding through skin. Saliva and tears fall to the floor.

He doesn’t hear Slade unzip his pants, only feels himself split open by another knife, going in so easy he barely notices it until it slams too deep to be ignored. It’s thick, seeming to touch every little part of him as the tips of his toes are raised from the ground, aggravating every nerve in searing pain.

Robin still sobs in relief.


End file.
